Out of the Cold
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: Hurt, cold and miserable d'Artagnan awaits a miraculous rescue. This is an entry for the January 2020 Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Cold".


Out of the Cold

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Hurt, cold and miserable d'Artagnan awaits a miraculous rescue. This is an entry for the January 2020 Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Cold".

* * *

The mud, the wind, the rain … the cold. At first they were only irritants; secondary to his pain. But now all four grabbed hold of him like old friends, threatening to take up residence … to never leave, to never let him go.

They seeped into his clothes, dampened his skin, where goose bumps erupted – no exploded; attacked his bones, then slid down inside his boots. There they held his toes hostage. He could no longer feel them. When he looked down at his hands; his fingers were stiff, uncooperative … fingertips tinged blue.

Intermittent gusts of wind sucked out the surrounding air and threw raindrops transformed as burning ice onto his exposed skin. Turning his face away from the torrent d'Artagnan sputtered and gasped.

As if traced by an invisible finger, a thin line of rain traveled beneath his collar and down his back. Eyes rolling back to white, he shivered uncontrollably. The seizure was harsh enough that he clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.

He did not want to seem weak, but …

How much longer could he stand this? How much longer before he was allowed to yield.

Surrender was what he wanted to do. Give up, let go and sleep. He was tired of holding on. He was tired of trying to show a strength he did not feel. He was exhausted with keeping up a false face of composure. He wished to concede.

"Not much longer", Athos countered, his voice a calm deterrent to the panic and defeatism he felt. Strong arms pulled him in close, and then Athos whispered in his ear, "Help is on the way." The warmth of his breath brushed the side of his face. This brought him comfort and his shivering ceased. He let himself go limp.

Burrowing into the man's side, d'Artagnan sighed deeply. His attempts to gather some sense of heat from beneath the cloak they shared seemed pointless. There was none to be had between them – sharing only rain, mud and the relentless cold. "You said that hours ago", he whined between chattering teeth. To his own ear he sounded juvenile. He could not help it. He was weak with misery.

Hours had passed; hours of this freezing rain. Or had it been days? Maybe even weeks? He didn't know. Time seemed to have sprouted a life of its own. Time spent lying here helpless on the side of this God forsaken hill; the carriage broken, destroyed on the rocks below; the horses now mercifully quiet – their horrendous, tortured cries silenced beneath the howling wind.

He wasn't sure about time anymore. Only that he was here, his leg perhaps broken – the pain replaced by the ebb and flow of stabbing ice. Only sure that he lay here in the arms of the only person he trusted in all things; his life included.

Unclear to him was how the two of them lay perched precariously within jagged outcroppings of rock, trees and brush. How had this happened?

The memory of this journey, the fall, their predicament was lost to him. Attempts at jarring his memories to the surface only left his head pounding and heart racing. It would come back to him in time he supposed.

What he did know was that Athos sat next to him; protecting him as much as he could from the elements – uninjured… his affect as calm, as placid as ever. Although drenched and waterlogged, he did not shiver. His eyes were clear. If he wanted, Athos could rise to his feet now, and climb up to the road. Why did he not?

Leaning back to catch his eye, d'Artagnan was determined to try again, to make his argument clear and succinct. "I think you should leave me here and go for help."

A silent moment passed between them, and he thought once again, as many times before, his plea would go unanswered; that Athos would ignore him, dismiss his sound advice, only to scan the horizon and monitor the storm. Annoyance peeked, and d'Artagnan clenched his fist. There was no good reason the two of them had to freeze to death on the side of this hill.

However, this time the silence was broken. Athos stared down to really study him; his eyes soft with crinkles around the edges… a rarity for him to display such tenderness. This act of sincere affection touched his heart and flushed his cheeks. "We will wait here together", Athos encouraged; then unexpectantly and completely out of character, wiped damp wetness from his face and kissed the top of his head.

d'Artagnan closed his eyes … relieved. Grateful tears did come and mingled with the rain. Leaning in, he laid his head on Athos' chest and could hear the rumble of his voice reach his ear, insisting that he "Rest."

* * *

He was weary to the bone and knew nowhere else to turn. Aramis, Porthos and the other musketeers had returned to the garrison some time ago. Rest, nourishment and the care of the horses was tantamount if they were to continue their mission robustly.

After hours in the saddle – fighting the wind, the driving; freezing rain and tacky mud – this is where he came to rest. Here was where he felt most at home; this tavern, this table … this chair.

Heart pounding, palms sweaty, he needed to gather his wits and think. d'Artagnan had been due back a day ago. When he had not returned, a search commenced immediately. Where could he be? They had searched every road, inn, barn and property between Paris and Reims before the storm hit. No stone had been left unturned, no person went unquestioned. It was a mystery.

By Lord Calvert's account, d'Artagnan had successfully escorted him to Reims on the King's business. The carriage and two horses were found, to their dismay … smashed and tragically lost at the bottom of a ravine. There was no sign of foul play; no blood trail to follow; no tracks to lead the way; no trace of d'Artagnan.

Anxiety and guilt racked him. He should never have allowed him to go alone; found a way to override Treville's assurances. But the boy was insistent. "How hard could it be?" he argued. In the end that confidence and blinding smile chipped away at his better judgment. d'Artagnan was not ready. Not yet a musketeer by name. Not yet experienced with life.

A cold finger traced an icy course down his spine and he shivered. Calling out for a pitcher of ale he searched the room in vain as if to find d'Artagnan here among the raucous patrons.

* * *

He was dreaming and he knew it. Unlike in most of his dreams where he went along for the ride and could not anticipate an outcome one way or the other – in this dream he studied his surroundings keenly and felt in complete control.

The tavern was noisy and as usual – wall to wall with patrons. Men calling for ale, laughing over conversations he could not make out, arguing over the turn of a card, rising to their feet to fight over honor and integrity. The smells, the sounds, the heat of bodies pressed close was eerily realistic; unlike his usual dreams which were draped in opaque colors and wispy other worldliness.

At the back, in his long established seat was Athos who waved to him anxiously to come over and join him. Moving through the throng of people d'Artagnan made his way to the table and stood before his friend. Smiling, he let go of the memory of freezing rain, insidious cold and howling winds. Here the fire crackled in the hearth; it was warm and friendly. He was home.

He could use some ale and reached for the cup Athos pushed in his direction.

Downing his drink, d'Artagnan sat heavily in his seat and could feel his insides heat up. He was content. Leaning back in his chair he was comfortable; relaxed and only wanted to experience the warmth and the company of his friend. Perhaps stay here for a while and abandon his pain, the rain, and the cold. But when he looked to consider his surroundings more fully, found Athos scrutinizing him closely.

"Where are you?" Athos asked his voice earnest; to the point and marked with a bit of uncertainty.

Frowning, d'Artagnan placed his elbows on the table. "Where am I?" he repeated. "I'm here with you and the happier for it."

Shaking his head, Athos rubbed his eyes wearily and laced fingers through his hair. "We have looked everywhere", he sighed, then searched him out again. "Everywhere. It's as if you have fallen off the face of the earth."

"Not the earth", d'Artagnan laughed. "Just off the road and down a ravine."

"We have found the horses, but…"Athos continued, his eyes incredulously fixated on d'Artagnan's face.

"We wait above them." d'Artagnan explained. "Behind an outcropping of brush, trees and rock. You pulled me there to safety."

"We" Athos repeated; clearly in disbelief.

"Yes, you wait there with me. And as this is my dream, I prefer we wait for help here where the air is warm, the ale burns my insides and I can feel my fingers and toes."

Athos quirked a smile – uncertain as to the why and how of this conversation and lifted his cup in salute.

* * *

Athos sat up with a start and felt the heavy hand of Porthos on his shoulder.

"Are you well rested then?" the big man asked, brows furrowed; his face projecting the confusion; even perhaps the fear he felt.

He nodded, wary of his surroundings. The tavern was now practically empty of patrons as sunlight streamed through open windows. The storm it seemed had passed. Squinting against its glare, he scanned the room, expecting to see d'Artagnan seated and smiling across from him. But he was not there, once again … lost.

Was he not just here, speaking of warmth; strong ale and friendship?

Hesitantly Aramis interrupted his bewildered state. "Are you awake my friend", he began, "The day begins, and we are ready to continue the search. Treville has dispatched a fresh regiment to accompany us."

Athos stood slowly to his feet, felt the room tilt as the sawdust floor changed to mud; the chairs and tables transformed to outcroppings of trees and brush. Blinking through this vision, he could feel a brisk wind on his face and shivered. At his feet lay d'Artagnan cold and still; his lips tinted blue.

"Are you well Athos?" Porthos spoke again; this time adamant for some response.

Aramis chimed in firmly, "What is it mon ami?"

Traversing suddenly back to the tavern, Athos stumbled and would have fallen if not for Porthos' quick reflexes of grabbing the back of his shirt. "Steady", he murmured; then gripped his arm.

Incredulous, Athos reached for Aramis and pulled him in close by the collar. Hands shaking; his knees trembling; a cold vice squeezed his heart. "I know where he is", he sputtered out. "I know where to find d'Artagnan."

Pushing away from his friends, Athos reached for his coat, weapons belt and hat then moved swiftly toward the door … his mind on one objective.

"And he knows this how?" Porthos wondered aloud as Aramis shrugged and they followed without question in his wake.

* * *

d'Artagnan awoke form his dream and groaned. The hearth was gone, and the warmth of the tavern faded from view. The taste of ale evaporated. Rocks pricked through his clothes; as well as mud and chilly dampness; his leg protested in earnest and a cold breeze lifted his hair. But even as his promise to wait by the fire dissipated, there at his side was his friend, Athos – whose reserved smile challenged the sun and eased his fears.

"I'm here", he said – his voice unusually soft and careful; his arms a protective weight across his shoulders.

Brows creased, against the shining sun, d'Artagnan moved to sit up and studied Athos intently. "Of course you're here", he intoned; not sure of what message Athos imparted as his expression was hard to read.

Behind Athos, just as he predicted - stood Aramis and Porthos, their faces relieved; but curious. And before he could react to this much anticipated rescue with heartfelt gratitude, his body let its abuses known and he bit his lip.

Aramis moved forward then, touched his brow and with authority noted, "Well then, let's get you home and out of the cold."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. I really hope you enjoyed! This is an entry for the January 2020 Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Cold". If you would like to participate in the January Challenge, please go to the Musketeers Forum page titled Fete de Mousquetaires to learn more about the rules and how to enter.


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